


New Recruit

by AToneic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Ana, Childish Hana, Doc. Mercy, F/F, Overwatch!Widowmaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AToneic/pseuds/AToneic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If a complimentary box of chocolates wasn't enough to convince Widowmaker made the right decision, what else would?</p><p>aka: Widowmaker leaves Talon only to join the opposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy! Give me a heads up for any spelling errors :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Widowmaker shamefully restarts her not-punched-in-the-face record.

It took fourteen hours after her application was sent to officially join Overwatch, which was surprising as it was concerning – did they not realise the threat she posed? Imagine that, Talon’s finest assassin handed a box of chocolates accompanied by a confirmation letter. It was only when she stalked through the hallways of their facility did she realise that joining Overwatch did not mean immediate integration; she was on observation. Or maybe it was just a coincidence that the facility’s cameras arched towards her whenever she passed by, either way really.

The locker room was where she’d had the most fun all day. Ana may have survived, but her face still remained scarred. This was the first time she got to see her eye-patch upfront. There was a small shove from Ana, the product of her own restraint. The right hook she saw coming, and a swift block with her left wrist allowed for a perfect counter. But instead, Widowmaker only chose to hold her ground against the rampage was on the receiving end of. Impressions were to be made, and she promised herself maybe later revenge would find a place.

It would've been quite the brawl she'd allowed herself to return back any hits. Having an barrage of fists come her way wasn't an unprecedented event, but it was the fierceness and pace of each punch which Widowmaker had miscalculated. Her opponent was aggravated to say the least, it's highly probable the her pirate-like appearance has something to do with it. Rest assured, Widowmaker could block for an eternity and her ego wouldn't tell her otherwise, but an eternity was a very long time. A forfeit is a strategic, efficient answer to this, and was in no way inspired by cowardly intent. She'd had gotten two successful jabs into the side Widowmaker’s face before Ana realised there was not a single retaliation, and a cough of blood only made her face soften into an apology. Unanswered rage still lingered under the delicate façade, and Widowmaker would have been an idiot not to infer that. A silent walk to the medical room was then led by Ana.

\---

Ana said something about there being a lunch break from eleven to two, and that the Doctor would be here in a moment.

Idly, Widowmaker wondered if Mercy was actually a doctor or just the bearer of immensely powerful technology. She had quite a few idle thoughts whilst here, the process of switching sides required patience, sadly without the small afterward victory she had come accustomed to. The medical bay was very less impersonal as it she’d expected. The wooden desk stood out the most, it’s darker brown contrasting with the white colour scheme inside this room. It was possible that this was also Mercy’s living quarters; there was another cot besides the one she was now occupying. Personal items were also scattered throughout the room; an intricately patterned lamp and a certificate of graduation being some of them. That observation answered her question.

“Ana told me you’d be here.” An accented voice echoed from the corridor, before Mercy appeared in the doorway with a lab coat. It felt awkward lying across a bed being looked down upon, something that she’d never experienced. She assumed it was manners for a patient to do so. Widowmaker usually sustained nothing more than bruises and cuts from the battlefield, and that’s all that was expected from her in terms of injury. Talon didn’t waste money on medical supplies, execution was more effective. Conveniently, snipers tend to stay hoisted up in high towers and away from close combat.

When it was realised that Widowmaker’s comment on her statement was silence, Mercy continued with a notepad now in hand: “When was the last time you had a check-up?”

“Three weeks, if self-check-up’s count.” A scribble.

The doctor seemed somewhat interested, and it was admittedly unnerving. “And if they don’t?”

“Three years.” Her eye widened a fraction before another scribble was heard. Widowmaker made the movement to get up, to sit or even leave; the difference of height was extremely uncomfortable, but a disapproving hum sounded from the doctor’s thin-lipped expression, her left hand gesturing for her lay back once again.

There was a line of questions fired to follow after this. Some about prosthetics (which are non-existent), more about skin conditions, standard heart rate and blood pressure, then peculiarly one about food allergies. She didn’t know the answer to that one.

Q and A seemed to be finished for now, and the Doctor simply gave her an ice-pack wrapped around a towel with sheepish look. It appeared Overwatch had a medical supply shortage of their own. The doctor addressed Widowmaker before dismissing her, saying her name was Angela.

Widowmaker was about out of the door before she heard that Swiss voice call at her once again, “Should I file this check-up under Amélie Lacroix?”

And that took her by surprise; she whip-blashed back as if she were burned. It was much more than just a filing issue, it was an overstep in personal boundaries. “Oui.” There was a stutter in her answer, but it was a yes nonetheless. Widowmaker accepted being a part of Overwatch was not a 24/7 commitment, and she must co-operate with the norms of society as well, one of them being the need for an actual name.

“You should take these.” The doctor handed a skinny, carbon binder to her with a warm smile, likely to be fake. “Visit anytime.” She said, before adding, “Also, no weapons are allowed in here.”

\---

In her stride back to the locker room after that endeavour, she realised this base of operations was more than that to it’s members; it was a second home. A fairly cramped second home at that, she thought. There were only ten rooms, and the use of bunk beds becoming obvious. Angela was lucky.

Her locker was empty except for the Widow’s Kiss and a coat hanger. When she passed by others, they were almost unrecognisable with their uniforms disposed. They were most likely kept in their own lockers as well. There was a mirror on the inside of its door, and she looked the same as always.

Before placing the binder inside, Widowmaker took a quick flick through in curiosity. It was Overwatch’s medical files on its members, or at least a heavily censored version. She sighed in relief; the doctor was not a moron. It specified names, call-signs, food allergies(?), as well as other inconsequential dates and numbers. A mug shot also accompanied each name. Her lips almost twitched when she saw Winston’s, the monkey indicating that the identification shots were only taken once.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, and her response was instantaneous. It went tense in restrain, and Widowmaker struggled to give out only a short nudge to the hand on her shoulder as she turned around. Her eyes lowered to see a short Korean girl retracting her hand with confusion. She was much shorter than what she’d seen through her scopes, and Widowmaker now regrets not reading the heights in the binder. In her defence, this target was usually inside her mechanical suit and her therefore observations were distorted. Just like in the picture, D.Va didn’t have any make-up (or was it war paint?) on.

“Hi, I’m-“

“Hana.” She seemed upset at this interruption, an emphasied pout plastered on her face. _Mon Dieu_ , she wished her record stated D.Va was also dramatic.

“One, you’re pronouncing the syllables of my name entirely wrong,” there was a roll of her eyes, “Two, I’m talking!” Widowmaker’s face remained cold.

“Pardon, Miss Song.”

The irritating teen whined, “What if I was married?” and was meet with the brisk reply of:

“Then it would say it here, non?”

Hana Song sighed loudly, an overreaction, but possibly the closest apology she’ll get from the child. She concluded Hana knew what the binder was from first glance, and hence the whole team must. Hopefully she wasn’t expected to remember _all_ the details of her new colleagues.

It couldn’t have been the worst impression she’s given to someone before, she concluded. Hana had even decided to give her a tour of the base. It had some noticeable differences from Talon’s base of operations. The lack of an armoury was one of them. In contrast, there was a research room, with a desk and bed, which Widowmaker assumed was the monkey’s living quarters. It was larger than Angela’s, despite also having an alternative use, and Hana explained he was often “monkeying around”. Only one of them laughed at that.

Then there was a cafeteria fitted with “okay” food replicators. There were quite a few people eating there, if not the whole team and she received many pointed stares before leaving. Next was a room containing computers and wires going every which-way – the server room, and a shared showering space. Hana went inside each of the personal quarters, providing her with a short glance of each room as the teenager (in monotone) listed names in relevance. Apparently, opening the doors of fellow crew member’s rooms without consent was against the privacy and policy act of Overwatch, which Hana stated after she’d done so. Widowmaker presumed this was improvised as the ape-monkey would never overlook the danger of showing an ex-Talon agent to the server. That idea sparked a warm feeling in her gut, and she saw to supress it immediately.

“You’ll be staying in my quarters for tonight. But I have conditions.”

“So be it.”

“No smoking, no bouncing around and no talking when I have my headset on,” she said, counting on her fingers, “or you sleep in med-bay!”

Widowmaker agreed, the conditions were reasonably annoying in their own way. Hana had probably designed these rules for someone else. After she signed Hana’s roommate contract – Yes, it wasn’t verbal, Hana regurgitated the lockdown and fire protocols, and also warned her that they had drills every fortnight. That would become annoying in some time, she thought.

\---

The clock read 23:00.

“Where is the other one who rests here?” Widowmaker said, recalling it was Tracer.

“Lena is doing a stakeout with Winston until tomorrow morning, I don’t think she’ll mind if she finds you in her bed.” There was another meaning to the last part of her answer, she was sure of it. The small giggle didn’t tell her anything but that. “She has the top bunk, orange sheets.”

“ _D’accord_.” Widowmaker said, climbing to her bunk.

“What?”

“ _D’accord_ means, euh... okay.”

The girl reached out for the light switch before saying, “Oh. Well, night A-uh…”

“Amélie.” It felt weird off her own tongue, more foreign than English had ever been.

“Yeah, night.”


End file.
